


Ideal Knight

by Dathedr



Series: One Thousand and One Chaldean Nights [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21815911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dathedr/pseuds/Dathedr
Summary: He, a knight haunted by his past mistakes. She, who had always idolized him.A miracle brought their paths together once again.This is a story of camaraderie, a story of redemption.A story of forgiveness.
Series: One Thousand and One Chaldean Nights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571959
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Ideal Knight

Three days.

It had been three days, but he still couldn't muster the courage to see her.

Lancelot paced around the Las Vegas hotel lobby anxiously, earning curious gazes from his fellow knights.

"Oi, Lancelot," called Gawain, who was seated on a couch, polishing his sword. "I don't know what troubles are in your mind, but I advise you to get over it soon. Master is relying on us to fight the famous King of Sparta."

"How sad, how lamentable," Tristan chimed in. "Has another fair lady caught your eyes, married though she might be? Ah, Sir Lancelot, surely you have learned something from your previous experiences."

"I don't think you're one to talk about that, Sir Tristan," said Bedivere. "But Sir Gawain is right. We'll be relying on Arondight to deal the finishing blow, Sir Lancelot. We need you to refrain from getting into trouble until then."

Lancelot glared at them. His trouble was something that even the fair maidens of Chaldea had been unable to cure. Not that he hadn’t tried to come to them, of course, but the only thing that had managed to do was earn him a disgusted stare from his son — or rather, daughter. He would need to keep that change in mind.

Still, he knew they were speaking the truth. The previous day had seen the Servants of Chaldea face off against the formidable Tawara Touta. While they had managed to snatch a win, the victory had come at a great cost; their lines had been broken by the famous archer’s relentless barrage, and only a timely intervention from the venerable Enkidu had saved them from certain doom.

In the absence of their king, it fell to the knights to restore the wounded pride of the Round Table. They had to win this next match no matter what. There was no room for weakness, he knew. And yet . . 

“Big brother Gawain!” 

Lancelot jumped as a girl’s cheery voice called from behind. Beside him, Gawain rose up and sheathed his blade, a wide grin on his face. Entering the room was a female knight, small in stature, but equipped with armor from head to toe. A spear as well as a shield were in her hands, both nearly as large as she was, yet the girl didn’t seem to have any trouble carrying them.

“Ah, little Gareth,” greeted the Knight of the Sun. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” Gawain embraced his sister, who reciprocated with a hug of her own, letting her weapons drop to the ground with a loud clang. 

“I heard that everyone’s preparing for today’s fight, so I came to check!” She pouted slightly. “You know, I wanted to join all of you, but Master wouldn’t let me. He said I’m not strong enough just yet.”

Gawain patted his sister’s head affectionately. “Not for long. Master has promised me that the next batch of Embers would be reserved for you should we win this fight.”

“Really?! Then you have to win, no matter what!”

“Naturally. It’s not like anyone is able to hold up against my Galatine and Sir Lancelot’s Arondight. Right, Lancelot?”

There was no answer.

“Lancelot?”

Lancelot peeked from behind a corner, watching as Gawain went around the room in a futile attempt to look for him. Gareth, too, had joined in the search, her expression one of worry.

Her sincerity only pained his heart all the more.

The memories of that rueful day were still fresh in his head — too much so, in fact. Lancelot’s defense of Guinevere had culminated in him leaving Camelot, abandoning not only his King, but also everything and everyone he had ever known and loved. Along with several others, little miss Gareth had tried to stop him. Even now, he could still remember her face then — concerned, desperate, pleading. 

Yet the madness of love had been on him, and with his own hands, he had . . .

Lancelot could not bear to think of what had come afterwards.

Slowly, he shifted away from the commotion, and from Gareth. He might have been her mentor in the distant past, but the him right now was not worthy of gazing upon her innocence and purity. He would let Gawain and the rest handle her, Lancelot thought, while he would look for some place to collect himself. Somewhere secluded and quiet, where he would not need to see her face.

He found a small pond in the beautiful gardens surrounding the hotel. It was no lake, but looking at the still water, clear as crystal, as well as the green of the moss underneath its surface calmed him somewhat. He sat down there and then, staring into the pond, watching as the fish within it swam around, their scales gleaming red and blue and yellow under the sun. Still as a rock, he stayed there for the better part of an hour, watching, observing, thinking.

“I figured that you’d be near a body of water, somewhere,” a cheery voice called from behind him. “I asked around the hotel, and they directed me here.” 

Lancelot turned to see Gareth, who grinned broadly under a nearby tree. 

He started to walk away.

“Lord Lancelot!” Gareth called out. 

Lancelot ignored her. He was unworthy, a murderer. What was she doing here? She shouldn’t be wasting her time to . . .

Gareth dashed in front of him, extending her arms to the side. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the exertion, but her pouting face was resolute.

“Lord Lancelot,” she said sternly, “You taught me that it is dishonorable to turn your back on one’s enemies.” 

Lancelot blinked. Yes, he did remember giving her that lesson, but what did that have to do with anything?

Color blossomed on Gareth’s cheeks as the knight seemingly realized what she had just said. “W-what I mean is,” she continued, abashed, “You’ve been avoiding me ever since I was summoned.”

She was met with silence. What was he supposed to tell her? Did he even deserve to say anything?

“I . . .”

Gareth summoned her spear. 

And swung it towards his head.

Out of instinct, Lancelot ducked, and the weapon smashed into the ground, causing a small shockwave to ripple out from the impact.

“Wait. Gareth, I . . .”

Another swing forced him to jump backwards. The oversized spear barely missed him, leaving a rush of air in its wake.

He avoided attack after attack, but Gareth went at him relentlessly, never giving him a moment’s respite. 

Her ferocity surprised him, bringing back memories. He remembered a small girl, trying her best — and failing — to lift a simple wooden spear. When had that girl become so strong?

He jumped back again, evading a thrust.

And stepped on the rocky edge of the pond.

His instincts took over, and Lancelot summoned Arondight as Gareth jumped at him. He parried the spear perfectly, but his sabatoned feet slipped on the uneven ground. Coldness flooded into his armor as The Knight of the Lake fell unceremoniously into the water. 

Gareth stood over him, spear pointed at his neck, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“I win,” she declared, before dismissing the weapon. “That was a first. I never could beat you in a spar back then.”

She extended a gauntleted hand towards Lancelot, which he took, letting her pull him to his feet.

And then, Gareth embraced him, wet armor and all. Lancelot let Arondight slip from his grip, and the weapon dropped into the ground with a thud, before it too dissipated into a golden mist.

“Gareth, I . . . Forgive me.”

She did not answer, and Lancelot realized that she was sobbing softly.

“I . . . I thought I’d lost you, back then. For the longest time, all I wanted was to be just like you. Even on that day, I trusted that my words would let you come back to your senses . . .”

He ran a hand through her hair, smiling sadly. He had failed her then, had he not? As he had failed the other knights, as he had failed Camelot. As he had failed his king.

“But when Master summoned me, I saw you, and my heart rejoiced.” Gareth looked up at him, and though tears lingered in the corners of her eyes, she was smiling. “I thought, ‘Lord Lancelot is here, just like the old days. This is surely a miracle come true!’ I was so happy.”

“I murdered you.”

“Crushed my head like a potato.”

“Do you not hate me?”

Gareth thought for a moment, then grinned. “I still feel sad about that day sometimes, but . . . hate? No, no. Everyone makes mistakes every now and then, even someone as perfect as you. Now that I think about it, that makes you even more awesome! Aside from my brother, I don’t know anyone who could crush a skull with his bare hands. As expected from Lord Lancelot!” 

He looked into her eyes, searching for hidden lies, for any sign of resentment. He found none.

There was only sincerity.

Lancelot fell to his knees, sobbing, weeping like a child. All that, and still she did not hate him. Gareth had always said that he was the perfect knight. And no one had ever disputed it. But he knew the truth now.

The knight standing in front of him was, by far, the best of them all.

“Forgive me,” he repeated over and over, tears flowing from his eyes like rivers, washing away the weight of his guilt.

All the while, she held him close, whispering in answer.

“I forgive you.”

Hours later, Lancelot stood alongside Bedivere and Gawain, who had been appointed to the vanguard. Before them stood three hundred formidable warriors, the fabled Spartans, round bronze shields lined up like a wall, a mighty forest of spears rising above their heads.

On their rightmost side, in the phalanx’s position of honor, stood the great King of Sparta. Even from this distance, King Leonidas was a sight to behold, towering over his men like a hero out of legend.

Such a mighty army, possibly the strongest Lancelot had ever seen. And yet, he felt no fear. He could not see her, but somewhere among the crowds, Gareth was cheering for them. The sound of a whistle resounded across the arena, signaling the start of the match.

Lancelot lifted Arondight up high, and charged. 

Today, he would be a perfect knight. Today, he would bring glory to the Round Table.

Today, he would not fail her.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started writing this nearly two months ago (hence the Gilfest setting), but irl stuff came out so it got delayed for so long ;-;
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to make more of these one-shots!


End file.
